


Five times Sherlock asked John to fake to be his boyfriend (and one time he hadn’t to)

by Hotaru_Tomoe



Series: The English job [25]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, H.I.A.T.U.S. challenge, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 01:16:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13400340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hotaru_Tomoe/pseuds/Hotaru_Tomoe
Summary: Just what it says on the tin.





	Five times Sherlock asked John to fake to be his boyfriend (and one time he hadn’t to)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the January Johnlock challenge of [H.I.A.T.U.S.](https://hiatustory.tumblr.com/post/169011443543/januarys-theme-is-fakepretend-relationship).  
> Theme is Fake/Pretend Relationship, and I used this prompt: John and Sherlock have to pretend to be romantic partners for a case… or so John thinks for the first five cases or so! Could Sherlock purposely be choosing cases to get closer to John? John should ask, he really should, but maybe he’ll give it a few more ~~kisses~~ cases…

1.

The first time is really for a case, Sherlock isn’t thinking about anything else, nor has further motives. It's just the best way to blend with the crowd and go unnoticed, and the most logic course of action, nothing else.

And Sherlock is prepared to explain to John, with the same logic, why he has to accept his plan, putting aside his paranoia, his objections and his  _ "I'm not gay." _

"John, you must be my boyfriend," Sherlock exclaims out of the blue, in the middle of an otherwise quiet afternoon.

Concise and straight to the point.

John lowers the newspaper and blinks at him, before arching an eyebrow.

"Just like that, without even flowers or a dinner date?"

Sherlock frowns.

"I thought we covered the dinner part a few years ago."

"Sherlock, mine was sarcasm."

"Then it was bad,” the detective snorts and wrinkles his nose, “you absolutely have to improve it."

John rolls his eyes (and why does he feel he will do it often in the next few minutes?)

"This isn’t the point: why are you asking me that?"

"It's for a case, obviously.”

“Sherlock, what you’re asking is not obvious, nor normal.”

“Listen to me: there is a video game tournament for couples only, and a killer is targeting the participants, so we have to enter the tournament as a couple to participate, so I’ll identify him."

"Why us? If we have to do the job for the yarders every time, I would ask Lestrade for a salary."

"They had sent Anderson and Donovan, but as soon as they started playing, they shot each other by mistake and were eliminated. We have to do it, John, I’m the only one who can identify the killer before he kills again, and I can’t do it without you."

"Sherlock, we aren’t a couple, we don’t do coupleish…. things, we would be discovered immediately: aren’t you always saying that I am a bad actor?"

"So I have to tell Lestrade that we will leave a killer on the loose?"

"I didn’t mean it like that! I... oh, all right! But only this time."

"Absolutely."

"But there’s another problem: I can’t play video games."

"That's why we'll train," Sherlock answers, producing a Playstation from behind his chair.

"How did you know I would accept?"

Sherlock gives him an incredulous look, as if to ask him not to be dull, and John doesn’t say anything anymore.

 

The day of the tournament, John thinks that pretending to be a couple will not help them go unnoticed: all the other participants are much younger than them.

In fact, when they arrive at the registration table, the staff member smiles at John.

"Oh, how cute, did you come to cheer for your little nephew?"

"Actually, we are here to play," the former soldier growls.

"Ah."

The woman's smile becomes terribly embarrassed as she hands them the badges.

"Do I really look like an old man?" John asks.

Sherlock tilts his head to one side. 

"Well, I think you should stop dressing in beige."

“Shut up.”

“You asked.”

“Shut up all the same.”

As they approach the arena, the other participants mock them openly.

"Hey old man!” says a guy with glasses, “are sure you know what a joypad is? Look, it's not like the TV remote." Then he moves behind him, while his girlfriend chuckles rudely.

John wants to reach them and answer, but there are so many people that he ends up bumping another guy, who looks annoyed.

"Ohi grandpa, you're wrong, the bocce club is not here."

John straightens his back, ready to show what a soldier who’s having a bad day can do, but Sherlock drags him away.

"We're here to play, not to fight."

Sherlock is focused on finding the killer and everything slips on him, but it’s not the same for John.

"Look, I'm not going to get insulted all day."

"Why do you care about the opinion of these people? They all have the IQ of an amoeba."

"I have dignity!” John protests, dragging him in front of one of the screens. “Come on, let's show them what we have learned: I want to see if they will still call me old, after I crush them."

"John... that's not our purpose."

"I don’t care!” he answers, putting the 3D viewer in his hand, “let's play, and don’t make me lose."

The game is called  _ "Think and shot" _ and requires skills both in solving puzzles and shooting; somehow it seems to have been specially created for them, because Sherlock finds the various puzzles of the game almost bewildering easy to solve, and makes them advance quickly between levels, while John has the precision of a sniper in eliminating potential dangers. 

But it’s not only that: while the avatar of Sherlock is busy opening a door or unlocking a secret mechanism, John's avatar has his back, shooting at the enemies. They’re perfectly coordinated, and know what to do without having to talk, so they defeat one couple after the other, and end up winning the tournament, while the people gathered around their seats cheer for them.

Actually, Sherlock has identified the killer as soon as they set foot on the play board and has already sent a message to Lestrade to warn him, so they might leave, but despite his initial reticence, John is having fun playing and showing everyone that he is not a clumsy old man.

When their game ends, a girl approaches John and shakes his hand. "I’m so impressed! I thought I was very close-knit with my girlfriend, but you are from another planet. How do you do it?"

"Just luck, I think."

"Nah, a timing like yours is not luck."

"You scored the highest score at  _ 'Think and shot' _ , congratulations" says one of the manager of the event, putting a trophy in John’s hands.

"Er... thank you."

"KISS!" Someone in the crowd shouts.

John smiles embarrassed and looks at Sherlock. 

The case is solved, but John doesn’t know it, yet, and this is when Sherlock thinks for the first time  _ "what if..." _

How would it be if he and John were really a couple? He would like to find out, and the case offers him the right excuse.

"We don’t..." John protests weakly, but he’s interrupted.

"Come on, don’t be shy,” someone insists. “This is a tournament for couples."

Before he can say anything, Sherlock puts his arm around his waist and leans to kiss him on his closed lips; it lasts perhaps a couple of seconds, but it's enough for Sherlock to want it to last longer, and for John to think about how smooth and soft Sherlock's lips are and how nice it is, before realizing they're kissing each other in front of a large crowd of people applauding them.

"Sherlock, what...?"

"Ah, how cute!” exclaims the manager. “Now a picture with the trophy."

Ah, of course, the case, Sherlock kissed him because it’s their cover.

John tries to ignore the subtle disappointment he is feeling.

 

2.

The second time Sherlock doesn’t specifically look for that case, it’s Mycroft who ask him to take it: someone is threatening a politician to put online the recordings of some private conversations with his psychologist, and this would throw doubts on his mental health and his political decisions.

There are two other cases more interesting than this, and Sherlock knows that it’s strange to accept a case of Mycroft without complaining, but this psychologist is specialized in couple therapy, and this would give him the perfect excuse to pretend to be John's boyfriend once again.

"John, today we have to pretend to be a couple and go to a psychologist: a politician is being blackmailed, the stability of the government is at stake, and I have to find out if the culprit is the psychologist himself, one of his collaborators, or another patient."

"I'm sorry Sherlock, but this time I can’t: I have a date."

"You had."

"What do you mean?"

"That I called Christine and told her that you had more important things to do."

"What? You didn’t have the right!"

"But there is a case."

"Oh, there's a case!” John parrots him, “so I have to put my commitments aside because there's a case."

"You always do it," Sherlock objects, surprised by his reaction.

"This doesn’t mean you can go on without asking. It's my life, Sherlock, MY life."

"Okay... I'll ask you now, okay?"

"You're impossible!" John barks, but he already took his jacket and precedes Sherlock along the stairs. While seeking a justification for his own behavior, John says to himself that if the government fell, the stock market would plummet, and he recently bought some shares: he doesn’t want to undermine his investments.

Once in sight of the clinic where the psychologist works, Sherlock updates him on his plan: "Today there will be a group session for couple and we will participate, pretending to have couple problems."

"We don’t have to pretend, we have problems, Sherlock" John barks, so loud that Sherlock starts.

They are introduced in a large room, where there are other three other couples sitting in a circle: two are formed by a man and a woman, middle-aged, while the third is formed by two young girls, and John is strangely comforted to see that all types of people and couples can have problems.

Too bad that they aren’t a real couple and that Sherlock is interested only in solving his cases. This doesn’t mean that John is sorry that he and Sherlock are just pretending… god, he wants to end the business as soon as possible and return to live his life, if his flatmate stops to boycott it.

A little later a female doctor enters the room and sits down.

"Good afternoon, I'm Dr. Lane. Dr. Hollenson apologizes, but has had a family emergency and can’t be here for today's session, I will replace him. I see we have a new couple,” she says, turning to them. “Do you want to introduce yourself to others, to break the ice?"

"He's Sherlock and I'm John," says the doctor, knowing full well that Sherlock doesn’t like useless niceties.

"How long have your been together?"

"Here..." John stutters, and then stops: he was so angry at Sherlock that he didn’t even ask for details to make their cover believable, and now doesn’t know what to say. "About six years," he finally mumbles, thinking about when they met.

"It's a long time, and you consider your relationship important enough to have sought help to solve your problems: this is extremely positive."

John nods: "I suppose so."

"John, in your opinion, what's wrong in your relationship?"

It's just an act, but maybe it's the right opportunity to make Sherlock understand how he feels sometimes.

"Sherlock takes me for granted."

John pauses, expecting Sherlock to deny, but the other one is strangely silent.

"Can you give us some concrete examples?"

"He believes that I am always at his disposal, he doesn’t care if I have other programs: if he decides that we have to do something or go to a certain place, I have to modify them. He has no consideration of me, sometimes I feel invisible in his eyes, and it makes me think that if I weren’t there, or if there was someone else in my place, nothing would change for him."

Dr. Lane nods, then turns to Sherlock, who hasn’t opened his mouth yet.

"I know it hurts to hear that, but talking about problems is always the best thing, because it allows us to deal and solve them. You heard what makes John uncomfortable, now do you want to tell him what you think doesn’t work between the two of you?"

Sherlock shrugs. "Nothing."

"I don’t believe it, otherwise you wouldn’t be here."

"There's no need to talk, besides John would become even angrier."

"Oh, get it over," John says, "you are talking like I’m the evil ogre and you a saint."

"It’s not my intention."

"Then talk!"

Sherlock seems really unwilling to do it, but in the end he murmurs: "You hold grudge, always."

"What? It's not true!"

"John,” the psychologist intervenes, “Sherlock let you talk without interrupting, now you have to let him explain: that's how a dialogue works."

"But he's lying, I'm not like that!"

The woman looks at him with maternal disapproval.

"I perceive a certain aggressiveness on your part, and often human beings use anger as a defensive mechanism not to admit to themselves an uncomfortable truth."

John is about to reply that it’s not true and that he’s not aggressive at all, but then he realizes that everyone is looking at him with some concern, because he raised his voice and jumped up.

Perhaps the doctor is not completely wrong.

"Go on" he mumbles, turning to Sherlock.

"I did a terrible thing to John a few years ago: I left London without explanation, I literally disappeared into thin air, and I stay away for two years."

John holds his breath, shocked: the last thing he expected was Sherlock talking about that episode. Why? It's been a long time, it's part of the past.

"I am aware of having made him suffer, and I’m still sorry, but I couldn’t avoid leaving: if there was another way, I wouldn’t have done… what I did."

"I know" John replies: when Sherlock came back, he explained everything to him and, after the initial fury, John understood. Really, what's the point of reliving that closed chapter again?

"I'm sorry for making you suffer,” Sherlock repeats, “I'm absolutely honest about this."

"I know this, too: we clarified, I forgave you some time ago, it's all fine."

"Is it?" Sherlock repeats mechanically.

"Yes."

"Sherlock, do you think John is not honest on this?" Dr. Lane intervenes.

"I don’t know. He said he forgave me..."

"Because I did it!" John interrupts him, and the psychologist is forced to remind him again to let Sherlock talk.

"But he continues to hold my disappearance against me."

"That's not true, I've never done it."

"Twenty-two times."

"What?"

"Since I came back to London, you did it twenty-two times. If I could go back in time and change those circumstances, I would do it. But I can’t, I'm powerless about this,” Sherlock bites his lips and the frustration is evident in his voice, “the only thing I can do is to keep apologizing, but it seems that it doesn’t help, and I don’t know what else to do," he concludes, and seems really lost.

"I don’t..." John begins, but then realizes that Sherlock is right: often, when he is angry with him, uses that topic as a weapon to silence him, to be right even when he is wrong, or when he wants to end an unpleasant conversation, or when he’s angry. What did Dr. Lane say before? That men use aggressiveness to hide something. It just seems to be true.

"I need a moment," Sherlock murmurs, and leaves the room.

John gets up to follow him, but he shakes his head.

Is it for the case? Did he play a part all the time just to have a credible excuse for going to Dr. Hollenson's office, and wants John to keep everyone there?

Usually, in these situations, John is good at understanding what Sherlock need from him, but this time he’s not sure that it is just fiction: they talked about real problems that exist between them. John didn’t imagine that Sherlock felt this way, to the point of keeping track of the times John holds his fake suicide against him, but he kept track of Irene Adler's messages, after all… Christ! They would really be a fine couple, if they were a couple.

"May I ask you a question, John?” One of those present intervenes, breaking the tense silence. “Why are you still with him? You're right when you say that he takes you for granted, since he has disappeared for two years. If I had been in your place, I wouldn’t have forgiven him, I would have kicked him out of my life!"

"No, you're wrong... it's very complicated, but he had no other way, and I forgave him for what he did, really" John insists. He did it, inside himself he knows he did, it's just that sometimes the thought resurfaces and he still gets angry.

"I believe that both things are true,” says Dr. Lane. “He is important to you and you have forgiven him for what he did, but it’s clear that you suffered a lot and you still suffer, and when this happens, you punish him and make him suffer in turn."

"And what can I do? I don’t want we drift apart..."

John thinks of Sherlock's face as he said he didn’t know what to do anymore, and he’s increasingly convinced that Sherlock wasn’t acting.

"If you think this relationship is worth the effort to be saved, you must learn to let go of the grudge. To forgive is already a big step, but you need to learn also to forget. All couples go through moments of crisis, as all the people in this room can confirm to you, but if they manage to overcome it, they become stronger, because they learn to understand each other. As for Sherlock, I would like to talk to him, too, I should go looking for him."

"Leave it, I'll go,” John says, hurriedly. “You continue with the others: we ended up monopolizing the session."

Sherlock is standing in front of a window at the end of a long corridor, and John approaches him slowly.

"Hey, I thought you had gone sneaking around, looking for clues."

"It was Dr. Hollenson's personal secretary, and I gave the proof to Mycroft."

"So the case is closed?"

"Yes."

"And what are you still doing here?"

"Did you think I was going back to Baker Street without you?"

"It wouldn’t be the first time."

"Now I see it."

"Listen, about what happened..."

"I'll call a taxi, I want to go home."

John sighs: "As you want."

Sherlock is utterly silent, although John tries several times to start a conversation, and once home, he announces that he’s tired and goes straight to his room.

"Sherlock?" John calls him when he is about to close the door behind him.

"It was a long day, I'm tired."

"Just a moment, please."

Sherlock leans his head on the doorframe, and gestures to John to continue.

"What I told you today is true: I forgave you, even if sometimes I act like an asshole. It's something I have to work on and I'll try to change. Just that... good night."

"John?"

"Yes?"

"Once, I told you I would be lost without my blogger."

"I remember," John says with a smile, finally more relaxed after a damn tense day.

"It's absolutely true, but today I realized that I've never done anything to prove it to you. I will try to change too."

"Okay. Good, that’s good."

"Good night John."

After that time, John don’t call Christine to apologize for the missed date, and they don’t see each other again.

 

3.

The third time there is no case, there are only the vague suspicions of paranoiac client, who fears that his business has been targeted by a serial killer. But even before knowing the details, Sherlock already senses that his suspicions are groundless.

"I try to bring joy into people's lives, Mr. Holmes, but evidently someone hates joy."

"What do you do, Mr. Werner?"

The client takes out from a briefcase the brochure of a resort, where couples' activities take place.  _ "The Merry Fairy Tale: build your own happily ever after" _ , reads the slogan.

"Learning to be happy as a couple and building unique moments together is an art, and we try to teach it to the couples who participate in our meetings, but in the last two months, three guests died after being with us, and our competitors took the opportunity to spread bad rumors: I need to know if anyone is killing our guests.”

There is no evidence that the three men were murdered, but Sherlock's attention is attracted by that stupid flier. The last time he and John pretended to be a couple was a disaster, building something positive with him would be a nice change, it's what they need.

It's dangerous, he realizes it, because pretending to be a couple is less and less a fiction for him, but he can’t resist the idea of a weekend with John in a luxury resort.

"So Mr. Holmes, do you accept my case?"

"I have to talk to Dr. Watson: if he agrees, I'll accept."

 

"John, I have to ask you something" Sherlock begins that evening during dinner (if a thawed pizza in front of the television can be called dinner)

"Tell me."

Sherlock shows him the brochure of  _ “The Merry Fairy Tale” _ and explains the concerns of Mr. Werner.

"We'll have to go undercover, pretending to be a couple all weekend, so I can observe and deduce the staff and the guests."

John already has other plans: going to the cinema with a recently known woman, but this time Sherlock hasn’t plotted behind his back, just demanding him to follow his lead. This time he asked.

"Is it dangerous?"

"It may be, three men are dead."

"What if I don’t come?"

"Then I give up the case."

John is surprised: he thought Sherlock would find another cover, in that case.

"You can always pretend to be a staff member."

"Unless they take courses on how to hide bodies without being discovered, I don’t think I have anything to teach."

"You're right,” John laughs, then gives him back the flyer. “All right, I'm coming."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

The resort seems a nice place to spend the weekend, and the movie that Melinda chose is really boring.

 

On Saturday morning they show up at the reception desk of the resort, hand in hand as a happy couple, and are greeted by a girl from the staff.

"My name is Vanessa, you are in my group. I leave you the weekend program, now you can go to your room to unpack your bags and relax. Lunch is at 12 a.m., you will know the other couples, then in the afternoon we will start the activities."

"Why in all these places there are group activities?" John mumbles, reading the program. Sherlock is an asocial, but he doesn’t like the company of strangers, too.

"I guess it's because they're hoping each couple takes the others as a model, imitating their positive behaviors."

"My God, I hope that nobody ever takes us two as an example, we should go around with a warning label on us," John laughs openly, and shortly after Sherlock joins him: there is a nice atmosphere between them, very different from the last time, and it’s exactly what he wanted.

John's laugh goes out when he enters the room and sees that there is only one double bed: it was expected, since they are pretending to be a couple, but the idea embarrasses him slightly.

Sherlock senses his discomfort and hastens to reassure him: "You can use the bed, I will not sleep, I have to think about the case."

"No, it's not a problem." After all, they're two grown-ups, they can sleep in the same bed without being awkward about it (even if he seems the only one uncomfortable at the idea, as Sherlock is acting like always).

"Can I take a shower first?" John asks, opening the suitcase.

"Go ahead."

John washes quickly, trying in vain not to notice that the shower is big enough for two persons, then checks his stubbles and decides that shaving can wait.

Sherlock is sitting on a chair and is carefully studying the program.

"Do you need a diversion to sneak in someone's room?"

"I don’t know yet, I must meet guests and staff, first."

"Well, I hope we don’t really have to do all the activities listed above: I don’t want to attend a conference on Feng Shui or a session of... positive reinforcement? Isn’t it something used in dog training?" John chuckles.

"It's an effective method."

"Then I'll give you a treat every time you clean the kitchen table."

"Idiot" Sherlock snorts with a smile, taking the program back.

The lunch passes without events worthy of note: the other couples seem all ordinary and boring, Sherlock and John chat with the people in front of them, they smile and they touch their hands from time to time, just like a real couple.

In the afternoon, they attend the first activity with the others.

"The cement that holds a couple together is mutual trust, so now we will show our partner how much we trust them,” Vanessa says. “The exercise is simple: it consists in letting you fall backwards and get caught by your companion, who will stop your fall."

Everyone puts themselves in position to perform the exercise, but Sherlock hesitates.

"What's up?"

"John, I didn’t know about this exercise. I can make up an excuse if you don’t want to do it."

"Because it's about falling and trust?"

"Yes, it's perfectly understandable that you don’t want to do it, not with me..."

"No,” John interrupts him, “let's do it."

After all, it's a good opportunity to show Sherlock and himself that he's following Dr. Lane's advice: letting go of grudge and forgetting.

"But…"

John touches his hand. "It's all fine, Sherlock."

The exercise seems easy, but it isn’t: falling backwards with closed eyes really requires a lot of trust in the partner, and someone turns at the last moment, others bend their knees, someone collapses instead of falling, unconsciously, they show their fears.

Sherlock positions himself before John, opens his arms and lets himself fall backwards without hesitation: there is John behind him, John who has forgiven him and has returned to live with him. In fact, John grabs and supports him easily.

When it's John's turn to fall, Sherlock repeats that he will not be disappointed if John wavers or doesn’t let himself go completely: it would be normal, understandable.

Instead, John lets himself fall stiff, just like Sherlock, and the detective holds him against his chest maybe a few seconds too many, but John says nothing.

Later, Vanessa distributes some printed sheets of paper: they have to answer a series of questions, giving their answers and trying to guess those of their partner, then they will have to compare the answers and see how many they have guessed.

"We believe we know our loved one well, but sometimes it’s not like that. Be aware that, even if you don’t guess something, you must not take it as a negative sign, but as an opportunity to discover something new about them. Start it as well."

The first questions are extremely simple: favorite foods, drinks, books, movies, and music, while other questions are deeper: what makes you happy? What is your biggest fear?

At the first question John answers 'being alive', and at the second 'being considered invisible', but when he thinks of Sherlock’s answers, he hesitates. Sherlock hardly shows the most hidden sides of himself, and John can’t say what makes him happy, or if he's afraid of something.

In the end, not knowing what to answer, he decided to go for a joke and writes: 'to solve a case' and 'failing to solve a case'.

When it's time to compare the answers, those on their favorite things are right, proof that they knows the other's tastes well, but if Sherlock guessed John's answers about happiness and fear, John was wrong. Sherlock answered that the thing that makes him happy is John, and his biggest fear is being left by him.

John is confused: he doesn’t understand if Sherlock has answered like that because he’s playing a part, or because he really thinks it: the borders between reality and fiction are thinning.

"How do you do it?” a woman asks, comparing their sheets. “Alan and I have been married for 15 years and we had many wrong answers, you only these two."

But John has the impression that he was wrongs on the most important ones.

"As I told you, this is an opportunity to learn something new about your partner. Now tell them something about the answers you did wrong," suggests Vanessa.

John looks up at Sherlock and licks his lips: "I'm happy I’m the one who makes you happy, but about your fear, it's groundless."

"Thanks," Sherlock murmurs, lowering his eyes.

"The next exercise is about physical contact," announces Vanessa and John becomes alarmed.

Sherlock immediately puts a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to go away?"

"Well..."

"A little physical contact is the best way to strengthen the bond with your lover: holding hands, caresses, hugs are simple gestures of love, but they express our feelings in the best way. Unfortunately, in the frenzy of everyday life, we forget it and end up being cold and distant. This is an opportunity to remind us how important is to touch our partner: go out and enjoy our beautiful park together. And don’t feel embarrassed: here there are only people in love."

"Well?" Sherlock asks.

"No, no, it's okay,” John answers, reassured by the explanation. “I can do this."

"What did you expect, that they ask us for a complete sex act in public? It's not a BDSM club."

"You never know what dark secrets hides the new age philosophy."

They both burst out laughing and one of the other guests exclaims: "You are really a nice couple, always so happy!"

"Ah... er... thank you,” John stammers, holding back a chuckle, then taps Sherlock on the shoulder. “He talks like that because he has never seen you pout."

"I’ve always a reason to pout."

"Like what?"

"Well, when you don’t let me do things."

"Not letting you shot at the wall is a simple matter of common sense."

"Then let's talk about when you pout."

"I don’t…"

"For example, when your football team loses a match."

"All right, all right, we're two old grumblers," John admits without animosity: they’re pretending to be engaged for a case, but sometimes they really behave like an old married couple.

They walk in silence for a while in the park, holding hands. John’s one, smaller, almost disappears in his, as if it had been specially designed to fit there; Sherlock stops and John gives him a questioning look, then the detective closes his eyes and surrounds John’s back with his arms, hugging him, and after a few moments, John's hands rest on his hips.

Sherlock can tell himself that they are only pretending, that they are doing what Vanessa said, not to draw attention, but the truth is that he feels that this is how it should be between them.

When John moves his left hand from his side, Sherlock thinks that he’s about to step back, but then he feels the same hand on his cheek, the thumb stroking his lips several times.

He opens his eyes and meets John's gaze, which is uncertain and confused.

"For the case?" He asks in a whisper.

Sherlock doesn’t answer, bends his head to rest his forehead on his, while John raises his head to kiss him on his closed lips; they've already done it during the video game tournament, but this time John lingers longer in the kiss and almost capture Sherlock's lower lip with his mouth.

When the kiss ends, they don’t look to each other, but they interlace their fingers again and return to the resort.

Vanessa approaches them and smiles: "You are perfect, you have fully understood the spirit of  _ The Merry Fairy Tale _ : moments like these are the glue that will help you build your happily ever after.”

The day was challenging from an emotional point of view, even if very pleasant (a good step forward compared to the session with the psychologist), so, after dinner John and Sherlock don’t stay in the salon, but go immediately to their bedroom.

John lies down on the bed, watching listlessly a movie, while Sherlock has again sat on a chair with his eyes closed: he’s probably reflecting on the case and the people they met.

"Are you sure you don’t want to come to bed?"

"Don’t worry, sleep well, John"

John closes his eyes, but the thought of Sherlock sitting nearby annoys him: after the hug and the kiss it seems wrong that he is not in bed. He wakes up after a few hours of shallow and agitated sleep: Sherlock has fallen asleep with his head resting on the desk in a very uncomfortable position, and he can’t stand to see him like that.

"I'm the worst boyfriend ever," he murmurs; he gets up and shakes Sherlock by the shoulder.

"Mmrgh?" Is the adorable sleepy answer he receives, and John can’t help but smile.

"Come to bed."

Still half asleep, Sherlock lets himself be guided under the covers and tucked in.

The next morning they don’t mention that they slept together in the same bed, but there is no embarrassed silence between them, in the end it was simply... natural.

The second day involves building something together.

"Do-it-yourself is a great way to collaborate: choose from our catalogue something that you both like and have fun building it."

The objects that can be built are many: a cradle, a rocking chair, a dog bed, a locker.

"This!” exclaims Sherlock, pointing his finger at an apiary. “Can we do this?"

John isn’t interested in anything in particular, but is impressed by Sherlock's enthusiasm.

"Yes, sure. Why an apiary?"

"Bees are extraordinary creatures, they have a social structure more complex than the one of human beings, and without them much of the planet's flora couldn’t reproduce. I'd like to study them seriously, one day."

Sherlock holds the wooden planks still while John nails them.

"Are you talking about when you'll stop working?"

"Yes, I can’t run after criminals forever. What's up?" He asks, in front of John's surprised expression.

"I didn’t think you were the kind of man who thinks about the future."

"I started doing it recently."

In the future that Sherlock sees, there is a cottage in the countryside, surrounded by beehives and a small production of organic honey. There's also John in this vision, but Sherlock knows it's just his fantasy, John will have other plans for his future.

However, John looks critically at the apiary that they are building (and that is coming together quite well) then turns to Sherlock: "Bees, uh? I don’t know much about insect stings and allergies, I'll better start study something."

Does that mean he see himself in the same future of Sherlock? Has he just included himself in his fantasy?

They are close while they’re working, and when Sherlock bends over him to kiss him on the forehead, John no longer asks if it's for the case.

The weekend ends a few hours later; during the return journey Sherlock is particularly silent.

"Are you still thinking about the case?"

"There was no case at the end."

"Oh?"

"I deduced that the deaths of the three guests were purely accidental, no one killed them."

"So was it a coincidence that they were all here?"

"Sometimes even the universe can afford the luxury of being lazy."

"Are you angry for wasting the weekend?"

Sherlock turns to John: "No."

It wasn’t a waste.

 

4.

The fourth time there is no case, true or alleged.

Sherlock reads on the newspaper about a gay couple attacked outside a club by a man, who disappeared.

It's just common crime, like a pickpocketing, a robbery in a supermarket, a shooting between drug dealers; the episode is isolated and probably will not be repeated, but it's been three weeks since he and John went to  _ The Merry Fairy Tale _ , and apparently he developed a new addiction: the moments of intimacy that he has with John when they pretend to be a couple.

So, even if there isn’t a case, he could go with John in the same club, to make sure that there isn’t a dickhead who has targeted gay couples: he hopes that the excuse is strong enough to convince John to go and investigate with him.

It's not hard to find the right moment to talk about it: since returning from the resort, John is generally in a good mood (except when his football team loses a match, as he said) and is almost always at home when he hasn’t a shift at the clinic.

"I have a new case, a particularly heinous crime: there is someone who is targeting gay couples in the clubs."

"I haven’t read anything about it in the newspaper."

"Because for the moment it happened only once, but I would like to stop the assaulter before there is a violent escalation. Moreover, this kind of crimes easily generates copycats and the situation could degenerate."

"It seems serious."

"It could become."

"What is your plan?"

"Going to the club with you and pretending to be a couple to get the assaulter’s attention."

"Blimey, it's becoming a frequent request from you."

"I know, but your help is absolutely essential: this person only targets established couples, not singles or those who go alone to the disco to find occasional company."

"I see."

John doesn’t go crazy for clubs, but he doesn’t see other alternatives. Sherlock could ask to someone else to pretend to be his boyfriend (like Dimmock), but for some reason the idea annoys him, and he doesn’t talk about it.

"So you want to be a bait. It's dangerous, again."

"And here you are."

"And here I am,” John smiles. “Please, just tell me I don’t have to wear leather pants or something."

 

The place is big and on Friday evening there is a lot of people dancing and having fun.

Sherlock and John enter the club holding hands, sit at one of the tables and order drinks. The spaces are narrow, so John sees nothing wrong when Sherlock moves the chair closer to his and put his head on his shoulder; it is also part of their cover.

The music is less terrible than he feared, a selection of Eurodance from the ‘90s, and the lime cocktail he's drinking is not bad.

"Be careful with that,” Sherlock chides, “you haven’t eat anything."

"Shut up!” John replies, jokingly poking Sherlock in the side, making him yelp in surprise. “I've been in the army, I hold my alcohol very well."

"If you say so…"

"Do you see anyone suspicious?"

Sherlock put his head on his shoulder again.

"No, for the moment nobody. That couple at the bar counter has just fought: the man in red shirt would like a more stable relationship, but the other one doesn’t feel ready yet and probably he’ll never be, in my opinion; the couple dressed in blue on the edge of the dance floor is here to celebrate their third... no, fourth anniversary, while that man dressed in white leaning against the wall is not out, he loves to dance, but is afraid to be seen in a gay club from someone who knows him."

Listening to Sherlock's deductions is as interesting as ever, and his voice, so close to his ear is almost mesmerizing, but after almost an hour and another lime cocktail, John sighs: "I think that for this evening the aggressor will not show up."

"Maybe we should dance,” Sherlock suggests hurriedly, because he doesn’t want the evening to end. “To get his attention, you know."

"I'm not a good dancer," John protests.

"Why, is anyone on the dance floor good?"

"That's true, too. All right,” John gets up and jokingly offers his hand. “May I have this dance?"

"My pleasure."

The dance floor is very crowded, to the point that John is hit in the back a couple of times by someone who is wiggling behind him, and when he moves away, a couple who is dancing with excessive enthusiasm, runs over him.

"You were right, it's dangerous," John laughs, getting up.

"There are a lot of people, you have to be closer to me, like that."

Sherlock surrounds his shoulders with his arms, and pulls him close to him, so much that their chests touch.

John staggers and moves his feet awkwardly. "Sorry, I don’t want to step on your feet."

"Your hands, put them on me, we’ll be more coordinated."

Hesitantly, John put his hands on Sherlock’s narrow hips, and at least they find an ideal position for both. 

Sherlock is a great dancer, and follows the rhythm of the music smoothly, shaking his hips and moving his head from side to side. He doesn’t wear one of his usual suits, but a white T-shirt and black tight jeans; he’s outside of his natural element and he seems almost different from the man John knows, but this little adventure gives John a chance to see him under a different light.

_ “God, but he is beautiful,” _ he thinks, and, if he wants to be totally honest with himself, it’s not the first time that the thought passes through his mind.

The shirt that Sherlock is wearing is perhaps one size smaller, and it lifts when they twirl; John's fingers slide over his smooth, sweaty skin and, even though he knows he should move them, he has had one drink too many, and this makes him bold enough to leave his hands where they are; he believes he hears Sherlock moan, but the faint sound is lost in the loud music of the club. One of John’s hand slides forward (yes, he is definitely less sober than he thought) and boldly strokes the skin just below the navel, where there should be a thin trail of hair that runs down to the groin, but he doesn’t find it.

Sherlock shaves himself, maybe?

For some reason, the thought provokes a funny shiver along his spine.

With the other hand, John caresses his hipbone, just above the edge of his jeans, and suddenly Sherlock's mouth is on his.

This time there is nothing chaste or hesitant in the impetuous and ravenous movement of their lips, but just when John opens his mouth to touch Sherlock’s lips with his tongue, Sherlock seems to awaken from his trance and interrupts the contact.

"Shit, Sherlock..." John starts to apologize, but Sherlock shakes his head: "No, I just need a moment, in the loo."

He hastily abandons the dance floor to take refuge in the toilet, where he splashes his reddened face with cold water.

He behaved like a fool, he completely lost control... but John's hands on his body were so sensual that they seemed like those of a true lover.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Now John has certainly understood his game, he will be furious and will no longer want to follow a case with him.

He must apologize and contain the damage in some way, he can blame the alcohol and hope it works.

Meanwhile, John has reached the bar counter: he doesn’t know what he's got into him. It’s true that it was Sherlock who jumped at him, but he provoked him, and if there has been a misunderstanding it was his fault. But Sherlock was so damn sensual, and his skin so smooth that...

"Hey, are you alone?"

A man sits on the stool next to his and smiles lewdly.

"No, I'm here with my boyfriend."

"I don’t see anyone."

"He's in the loo."

"Mh, in the clubs bathrooms are places of perdition, who knows what he is doing, and with whom."

"Not Sherlock."

"Oh honey, we are men: we are all the same."

"I'm not your honey!"

"Has anyone ever told you that you're adorable when you get angry?"

The man tries to put his hand on his thigh, but John is dragged down from the stool by Sherlock’s arms, that hold him around the waist in a very possessive way.

"He is my boyfriend."

John could have faced the man without problems and knocked him down with a single fist, but there is something electrifying in Sherlock's visceral reaction, and in the grim look he’s giving to the other man.

"All right, all right,” the other man raises his arms in surrender. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

"It will not happen" John screams behind him, never taking his eyes off Sherlock's face. God, he would like to kiss him again, but after what happened before on the dance floor, a kiss would raise questions that John is not ready to answer. And probably neither Sherlock is.

"Come on John, let's go. The attacker... is not here tonight."

 

A few days later, John asked him how’s the investigation going.

"Ah no, there was no serial aggressor: the couple was beaten by the former boyfriend of one of them, who was jealous of the new relationship."

"So you were wrong?"

"Yes, I'm not infallible, sometimes it happens."

Sherlock is already ready to bury John with statistical data on the percentage of resolution of his cases, to hide the fact that this time there was no case, but the doctor just makes a joke: "Sherlock Holmes who openly admits he was wrong? Let me mark the date on the calendar."

 

5.

This time there isn’t even a pretext: no one has been killed, beaten, robbed or blackmailed.

A boy who is leafleting in front of Barts, has put in his hand the brochure of a new massage salon, and Sherlock can’t think of anything else: he wants to go there, and wants to go with John.

It’s a salon that offers a special service: a massage course for couples.

Since the night at the club, the memory of John's hands on his body is a perpetual torment for him, he has repeatedly thought about an excuse to make John touch him again, and this is the perfect opportunity.

If he can convince John to go with him.

"John, I would have a case..."

"Let me guess: you need my help" answers the doctor, who is on a ladder in the hall, and is changing a light bulb for Mrs. Hudson.

"Yes."

"And we have to pretend a couple again?"

"Yes, the place we have to go is a massage salon for couples, and therefore I couldn’t go alone."

"You would be noticed."

"Exactly."

"Well," John answers, stepping down the ladder, "when should we go?"

"Thursday."

"I'll come."

John folds the ladder and returns it to Mrs. Hudson, then goes upstairs to prepare lunch.

Sherlock frowns: John didn’t want to know what the case is about, even if Sherlock had three plausible excuses ready: customers being robbed, employees stealing money, or drug dealing.

Weird.

But, after all, it’s better that way, at least he isn’t forced to tell John a lie.

 

At the salon they are asked to undress and put on the provided terry bathrobes, then they meet one of the masseuses, a very professional looking woman in her forties.

"Is it your first time here?"

"Yes,” Sherlock smiles and takes John's hand. “We are always looking for new experiences."

"Then you are in the right place: there is nothing more pleasant than a massage at the end of a working day, especially if it comes from our loved one. And with our lessons you will learn everything you need to do it at home."

"Interesting, right John?"

"Oh, absolutely."

There is a strange smile on John's lips that, combined with his quick agreement to help him, without asking questions, gives Sherlock much to think about.

The masseuse takes them to a private room, warm and cozy, with a comfortable massage table.

"So, who wants to start?"

John raises his hand: "Me. Sherlock often suffers from headaches and I would like to know if a particular massage could help him, before giving him paracetamol."

"Does your boyfriend spend a lot of time on the computer?"

"Yes, and even on the phone."

"Then it could be a problem of posture: a massage on the neck and the temples will help him. Sherlock, lay on the bed on your stomach."

"Oh... yes."

Sherlock doesn’t talk often about his headaches, because John immediately goes in doctor mode, and asks him a thousand questions.

Is it so obvious that he feels sick? Does John look at him so carefully without being noticed?

Meanwhile, the masseuse is showing to John various oils and massage creams.

"Do you want to try this mint essence?"

"No, the smell is too strong: when Sherlock has a headache, he’s also nauseous."

That's also true, but Sherlock had no idea that John noticed it.

"Then there is this lavender oil, which is more delicate. Pour a little on your hands and warm it, then press the palms on Sherlock's shoulders, at the base of the neck, and move them in a circle. Perfect, very good."

John follows the instructions of the woman, but he’s also advantaged by having knowledge of human anatomy, and immediately reveals to be an excellent masseur. He presses his thumbs on Sherlock's neck, making the tense muscles relax, and then returns to rub his shoulders blades.

Sherlock closes his eyes, and his mind is flood with a completely different scenario: late night, his (their) bedroom, the soft light of the lamp, John kneeling on the bed, massaging his back and sometimes bending over to kiss him on a shoulder, and then...

He opens his eyes, alarmed: when his fantasies have become so real and detailed? It’s imperative that he regains the control of his body and mind immediately, before betraying himself.

"Sherlock, for the massage on your temples, you should turn on your back."

The detective is very happy he didn’t completely remove the robe. He kept it around his waist and, while he turns, he makes sure that the knot of the belt is tight enough and the bathrobe perfectly in place to hide the groin.

There is a small pause before John's fingers rest on his face; Sherlock would like to know why, but then John begins to gently massage his temples and forehead, and Sherlock sighs with contentment.

"Do you like it?" John asks.

"Mh."

He likes it so much that he is tempted to take one of John’s hand, bring it to his mouth and kiss his fingers one by one.

John's brief hesitation was because, when Sherlock turned on his back, he saw that Sherlock shaves also his chest, and now curiosity leads him to wonder if he just shaves… well, everywhere.

The voice of the masseuse take them both back to reality: "I have to say that John learns quickly. Now, do you want to try, Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"What massage do you think John needs?"

"He's a doctor, so he gets up from the chair several times a day to visit patients on the examination table, he also takes the Tube and always leaves the seat to someone else, thinking that they are more tired than him.”

“You noticed” John murmurs.

“As you noticed my headaches. Besides,” Sherlock goes on “when he is at home he helps me in my job and is often forced to run around London.”

"I'm not forced,” John protests. “You know I'm glad to help you."

"Ah, how sweet you are! For John I suggest a defatiguing massage on back and legs."

John takes off his bathrobe and lies down on the bed.

Sherlock has chosen for him a citrus oil, fresh and pleasant, and the instructions of the masseuse are almost superfluous: he seems to know exactly what to do, where to touch to dispel muscle tension, how much to sink the palms of his hands in his back without causing any pain.

Sherlock relaxes every muscle in his body, starting from the shoulders and continuing with his back, finally moving to thighs and calves, however John doesn’t feel relaxed at all. He’s very happy to be on his stomach, because, between his inappropriate fantasies about Sherlock’ shaved body, and his heavenly massage, now he has a small problem (well, not so small, to be honest). Getting up from the massage table hiding his straining erection will not be easy: perhaps, if he quickly grabs the robe, turning his back to Sherlock and the masseuse, he can do it.

The lesson time comes to a end, and the masseuse is called by a colleague, because a couple of customers have questions to ask her.

"You can dress here. I hope to see you soon."

"Yes, and thank you" John replies: he would like to get up and grab his bathrobe, but Sherlock is still rubbing his shoulders.

"Sherlock," he calls, but his hands don’t stop.

"Hey, Sherlock!"

"Uh… what?"

"The lesson is over, weren’t you listening?"

"Ah, no... I was... thinking."

The truth is that he didn’t want to stop touching John, but certainly can’t say it aloud.

He can’t know that John is very disappointed that the massage is over, too.

They leave the massage salon, and Sherlock doesn’t give any explanation to John about the alleged case, but John doesn’t ask anything.

 

+1.

Sherlock is examining some human remains in the Barts mortuary: after a long time he finally has a real case and it’s a 7, but in some way it seems less interesting than usual, because it doesn’t give him the opportunity to ask John to pretend to be his boyfriend.

He’s thinking if he can still make up a credible excuse to do it, without making John suspicious, when he receives a message from his blogger:

**"Dinner at Angelo’s tonight. Come at once if convenient. If inconvenient, come all the same."**

He doesn’t understand why John wants to go to Angelo. If he doesn’t want to cook, usually he orders Indian or Thai takeaway, Angelo is reserved to celebrate the successful resolution of an investigation (and the case he’s working on now is not yet solved), or some special occasion, like a birthday, but there’s any recurrence of importance right now.

It’s strange, and the message has intrigued him, so he replies that he will be there, leaves the laboratory before having concluded all the analysis, leaving Molly very surprised, and goes directly to the restaurant.

Angelo welcomes him with the usual warmth, and accompanies him to the table near the window where they sat the first time, which, over time, became  _ their  _ table.

The oddities are not over, because that night John has put aside jeans and beige sweater, and wears a suit with a tie, so that Sherlock feels almost inadequate wearing his usual clothes.

"If you had written to me that I had to wear a formal suit, I would have gone home to change."

"No, I know you hate wearing a tie, and, besides, you're as dashing as usual."

"T-Thank you," Sherlock stammers, and blushes at the unexpected compliment.

Angelo brings them the menus and the wine list, and lights the candle on the table.

Instead of protesting as usual, John simply thanks him, then turns his attention to the menu, leaving Sherlock more and more puzzled: John is behaving abnormally, starting with the invitation, but at the same time he seems happy and relaxed, and Sherlock truly don’t understand what is happening.

"I think I'll take the roast shi drum, and you? Sherlock?"

The detective starts, and briefly scrolls through the list.

"Ah, saffron risotto. Uhm, John?"

"And what about the wine?” The doctor asks, ignoring his question. “Help me choose a white wine suitable for both dishes. What do you think of this Muller Thurgau?"

"No, it’s better suited for the end of the meal, with desserts."

"I see. And this Greco di Tufo?"

"Yes, it’s good, but..."

"Great!" John interrupts him, then calls the waiter, telling him their orders.

Sherlock is more and more confused: John has chosen one of the most expensive bottles of Angelo's winery: is there any important anniversary and he has forgotten it?

He rummages frantically in his Mind Palace, but finds nothing, and eventually realizes that John is talking to him.

"What?"

"You got distracted again. Problems with the case?" He asked, leaning towards him.

"No, not at all," says Sherlock, drinking a glass of water. It's just that he doesn’t understand, and this is upsetting him.

"Tell me, what have you discovered so far?"

John seems to have sensed his discomfort and led the conversation on familiar ground.

Sherlock relaxes and launches himself in a detailed description of the wounds found on the victim's body, normally not an ideal topic of conversation during a dinner, but he and John have their own normality, which is also made of moments like this.

The dishes and wine arrive, and John raises his glass, proposing a toast. "To the us two."

"Should I do a speech?" Sherlock asks with some concern.

"No," John laughs.

Oh, thanks god."

The doctor looks at him fondly, then takes the silverware.

"Let's eat, before it gets cold."

During dinner, they talk about many things, and at one point John expresses the desire to visit Scotland.

"I haven’t been here for several years, and I would like to come back."

Sherlock nods: "It's a lovely place, especially for those who like ancient history."

"So do you think you can take a week off from your cases this spring, let's say at the beginning of May?"

Sherlock looks at him open-mouthed and blinks quickly, thinking he misunderstood. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"Obviously," John replies, as if he hasn’t even considered the opposite hypothesis.

"Oh... alright, but..."  _ why? _ , Sherlock is about to ask, but is interrupted again by John, who is pointing at his plate with the fork. "Your risotto looks delicious, can I taste it?"

"Y-yes?"

"Mmh, heavenly. I must ask Angelo his secret. And you must absolutely try the shi drum, it melts in your mouth."

John uses his fork, the same he used to taste his risotto, to take a piece of fish and hand it to him, the same fork that was in John’s mouth.

Without a word, as if attracted by a magnetic force, Sherlock leans to the fork, closes his mouth around it and holds it in his mouth, maybe a second too long, because he hears John's amused chuckle.

Then John pulls the fork back on his plate, and now uses it to pierce another piece of fish and eat it, as if that extraordinary intimacy were normal between them.

"So, isn’t it delicious?"

"Yes, of course," Sherlock answers, without taking his eyes off John’s face.

"I'm too full for a whole dessert, do you want to eat half of it with me?"

"John,” Sherlock finally manages to ask, “what are we doing here? And what is this?"

"A date,” John answers, quiet. “It's what couples do."

"Co... cou..."

"Did you think you were the only one who could plan our dates?"

Sherlock bleaches, swallows noisily, and puts his hands on the tablecloth.

"How long have you known?"

"I suspected something already from the night at the club, but when we went to the massage salon, I realized there wasn’t any case."

Sherlock looks down at his empty plate. Was the dinner just an elaborate trap to induce him to confess?

"The first times there was a case for real, but over time the line between fiction and reality has thinned, at least for me, and I thought that... I shouldn’t have taken advantage of the situation."

Sherlock holds his breath and waits for John's anger to explode at any moment, but incredibly, the ex-soldier chuckles.

"You don’t have to worry about that, I did it too."

Sherlock jerks his head up: "Really?"

"It's not my fault if kissing you is so addictive, but I'm glad we cleared up, so now I no longer need any excuse to do this."

John leans towards him and kisses him on the lips.

Sherlock stays frozen for a moment, then responds with transport, and moans a protest when John pulls away.

"Is not for a case?" Sherlock asks.

John smiles and shakes his hand. "It's not for a case."

"Brilliant" Sherlock sighs, almost breathless: no more excuses or subterfuges to put his arm around John’s waist, to take his hand or kiss him on a temple.

"So, do we want to split a tiramisu, or skip the dessert and go home?"

"Ah... that!" Sherlock says, hurriedly.

"Perfect. Waiter, the check for me and my boyfriend, please."

 

The trip home is a confused memory in Sherlock's mind, all his attention is focused on John's hand, resting on his, and his smile full of promises.

He doesn’t remember getting out of the cab, having opened the door, went up and stripped, but they must have done it, because now they lying on the bed, naked, and John looms over him as if he wanted to eat him with his eyes.

John puts his hand on his abdomen and Sherlock shivers.

"It's from that night at the disco that the thought torments me."

"What thought?"

"You shave,” John murmurs, leaning his cheek on his smooth chest, “and I started wondering if you do it everywhere.” His hand slides to the groin and Sherlock arches under his touch, “and you do.”

"I like it, the skin is more... AH... sensitive."

"I see,” John clears his throat, almost embarrassed, “but I don’t shave. Err... does it bother you?"

"Not at all, I find your hair rather fascinating. Later, I want to look better at it, catalog the different shades of color and compare with that on your head."

Sherlock pronounces this bizarre statement with such naturalness, that John can’t help but burst out laughing, resting his forehead on Sherlock’s chest.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No, no.” He raises his head and smiles affectionately: “You are unique and absolutely perfect."

A shy smile makes its way on Sherlock's face, and his hand plays with John's pubic hair.

"Oh, you really like it."

"Mmh,” Sherlock moans, biting his lips, “I like the slight burning and the roughness on my skin."

John's penis twitches violently at those words, and the doctor's mouth closes hungrily on his.

"Christ Sherlock,” John pants, “you can’t talk like that, or I will not hold back."

"Then don’t."

Sherlock laces his long legs around John's waist and searches his mouth again; John grabs his hair and pulls, to access his neck and assault it with bites and kisses, while he ruts against Sherlock, and their moist erections slide over one another.

Sherlock's hands tremble when they rest on John's shoulders, and his nails scratch his tense muscles.

"John..."

John lifts his head from Sherlock’s neck and leans it on his forehead, while he keeps rocking his hips faster and faster.

"I want to see you come like this."

Sherlock is already on the edge, and when he hears these words, the orgasm washes over him. John doesn’t stop, he whispers how wonderful Sherlock is, kisses him sloppily on cheeks and his mouth, and keeps pushing, until Sherlock begs him to stop, then he lifts up on his knees, and jerks off, splashing hot semen on him.

Sherlock looks up at him, breathless, sprawled like a starfish on the mattress, and slowly an incredulous and amused smile makes his way on his face.

"John Watson, did you just... mark me?"

John lies down next to him and kisses his shoulder, "Well, it's too early for a ring, for now."

"For now," Sherlock repeats, closing his eyes.


End file.
